Life's Like An Hourglass Glued To The Table
by Vickyoharrypotter
Summary: Blaine just wants to feel. He's a sixteen year old "superstar" at Dalton Academy, but he feels numb all the time.   But things can change in the blink of an eye. There's a light shining at the end of every tunnel.
1. Control

Release.  
>I need the release.<p>

My heart pounds in my chest as I rummage through my bedside table drawer. I'm searching for something, but where is it?  
>A drawing of a tree from sixth grade? No.<br>An "I love you" bracelet? Ha! No.  
>A Katy Perry CD case? No, no, no, no, <em>NO<em>.

My fingers finally close on what I'm looking for. I caress the cool metal as a schoolboy would his pet.  
>My most valuable possession.<br>My X-Acto blade.

I race to my bathroom and sit on the cold tile floor, my mind racing in loops. _So close_. My mouth begins to water as I feel the anticipation build up in my stomach. I can taste the cool familiarity on my tongue.

I roll up my sleeve and hold out my left forearm, which is marred completely by beautiful, beautiful red scars. Some are faded o white, almost transparent, while others are still scabbing over, waiting to become the lifelong reminder of my actions.

And I love it.

I hold the knife to the spot right above the crease in my elbow and press down gently. Red droplets peek out from the small line. _Not enough_. The voice in my head is screaming at me now: _More. I need MORE._

"You're a failure," I say to myself, and that's all the motivation that I need. I press harder now, making neat little slashes to cover the damages already been done.

The blood joins together in a lovely waterfall of red, red, red.

I drop the knife and smile at the little clink it makes when it hits the tile. I dip my fingers in some of the blood pooling on my arms, reaching down to trace patterns in the lovely, pristine white tile.  
>White: The color of purity and innocence and then-<p>

Red, red, red.

~~~~~

This is my secret, you see. My one thing I have that I and I alone can control. People _could_ tell me to stop, if they actually noticed and/or cared.

But it doesn't change the fact that they cannot control me. I am in charge of my own life and what I choose to do with it.

People used to push me around constantly, calling me violent names, pushing me into lockers, they even tied me to the flagpole naked once with FAG written on various places of my body. These accusations are not false, but still hurtful.

I have no control over my sexual preference.

But there's that word again.  
>Control.<br>I can't control other people, everyone tells me. Just because you're always right doesn't mean that you can shove it in other people's faces, they say.

So, I'm at Dalton. A place where you blend into the group. An endless sea of faceless, blazer-clad boys.

And the Warblers, oh the Warblers. I'm a part of Dalton's a capella glee club. And, get this, I'm the lead singer. At every event, I'm the one standing in the spotlight, drawing people's attention. They all have to look at me, because I'm giving something to them.

I love the attention. I love being in control of he group, having every decision made based on me. It has to stay me forever, I have to have that spotlight. I need it more than my life.

Well, today, we had yet another Warblers meeting. It was decided by the council hat I am taking up too much of the energy of the group, and that we should think about giving another person a shot. In my head, I screamed _no. NO. NO! _But I can't let that show to my fellow Warblers. They might lose all respect for me. So I kept quiet, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times.

I even suggested that Nick take the next song instead of me, because that's who Blaine Anderson is. He is a team player who loves life and thinks everyone and everything is great.

They just don't understand that I'm dying beneath that perfect facade.

And so, I ended up here, bleeding on my bathroom floor.

This is so common for me. I look down at my arm, stained with the dark brown that is my own dried blood. I gently finger one of my most protruding scars, an old one that runs directly across the crease of my wrist. I think back to the day that it was done, a terrible day in the life of Blaine.

~~~~

It was a cool November day when I waltzed through the front doors of my house, splattered in bruises and cuts.

My father is standing the living room, beer in one hand and a phone in the other. I creep around the corner to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"-It's gotta happen fast or he might try something!"  
>I accidentally sub my toe on the crown molding and let out a yelp of pain. <em>Shit<em>.

"Who's there?" My dad demanded, throwing the phone down on the table.

I step forward with a large gulp and hold my breath.

"Why are you all beaten up? Did you fall out of a tree? You always were a clumsy little bastard."

My heart stops as I shake my head roughly. "A-actually, dad, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it, son?"

"These g-guys a-at school, um, they, um, threw me into a dumpster and shut the lid so I couldn't-"

"Why didn't you defend yourself? I thought I raised you right! God DAMN it, you're soft! I warned your mother that if we didn't put you in lessons-"

I took a step back at the harshness of his tone. "Don't you want to know why?" My inside voice is screaming _No. Now is not the time for that. Say it when he's sober._

"Stop playing these games and just TELL me, boy!"

I took a deep breath to calm myself and stated as clearly as I could, "It's because I'm gay."

_**SMACK.**_

"Don't you DARE say those words under my roof, boy! We'll send you to another school. You WILL NOT act upon these abnormally freakish urges of yours. We can't have the town gossiping. I'll be a laughing stock!"

Tears sting my eyes as I rub my stomach tenderly. "What if I say no? I didn't _choose_ to be this way! It's not my-"

**SLAM**

My father pinned me up on the wall like a poster, sneering in my face. "You. Are. A. Disgrace." He accented each word with a punch to the gut. "One more word and I will disown you. Is that clear?" I could smell the alcohol drifting around his mouth, blowing in and out with his ragged breathing. I nodded and he let me down.

~~~~

Tears stung my eyes as I ran to my room, searching for something, ANYTHING to reduce the pain.

I grabbed some tweezers that were sitting by my bedside table, jamming them fast and hard into my wrist, drawing blood.

I then scoured my room looking and looking until I found a pair of scissors. I held the blade against my skin and sliced and sliced until red, red, red.

I marveled at the adrenaline pumping through my veins, exciting and thrilling me.

And then, it was over, and I was left with a craving, an itch for more.

"I'm a failure."

I climbed into my bed and sobbed into my pillow, both for my father's rejection and my failure to please him.

"I'll try to be a better son for you dad, I will."


	2. Speechless

A sharp buzzing sound wakes me up the following morning. I look over at my clock- 6:30 AM, which means I've got to get my ass out of bed right now or I'll be late to class.

Not that I really care. What's the point anyway? I get top marks in all of my classes, I'm sure no one would miss me if I just didn't go today.

I rub my eyes and sit up, alerted by another buzzing sound. My phone is ringing. I pick the ancient artifact up and flip it open to find a text from Wesley, my "best friend."

**Wes: Hello there Warblers! Don't forget that we will be performing today after school in the Senior Commons at 4:30 sharp.**

I send a quick _Sure, wouldn't miss it_ to him before throwing the damned piece of technology down on my floor. It's like he's trying to taunt me. I KNOW I'm not the lead this time Wes.

I shake my head and run to the bathroom, hoping to catch a quick shower. I pull off my clothes and step in the tub, turning the shower on full heat. As I'm washing my hair, I feel a stinging on my arm. _Shit._

Before that time, I hadn't even properly looked at the damage I had done. My forearm and wrist are completely covered in raw red lines, already forming nasty looking scabs.

I finish up my shower and get dressed for the day, putting on my crisp, white dress shirt with extra care to be sure not to snag my wounds. I forgo the gel today because _really, what's the point_ and tug on my maroon and navy striped tie.

I take a look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I have horrible bags under my dull eyes and I look even paler than usual. I pick up my satchel from my chair and take one last look before heading out the door, onward to my first class of the day.

~~~~

The day passed by agonizingly slowly as I trudged from class to class. Over six people came up to me and told me that I look terrible. In my head, I was screaming but on the outside I kept my cool and blamed it on a heavy workload.

I dozed off in second period, not really having had much sleep. I didn't get reprimanded, however, because I'm _Blaine Anderson_ and this is for sure a one time thing and _it won't happen again, Mrs. Howard._

I fucking hate being a sophomore. I'm forced to sit through these classes about "World History" and "We're going to study Julius Caesar today!"

Okay, I don't really mind Shakespeare. His writing speaks to me on so many levels, and I find him very interesting but other than that I don't _care_ about Pre-Calculus or French III or any of that shit. I just want to perform.

The end of the day comes and suddenly its 4:20 and _shit, I have to get to the Commons right now._

I'm rushing down the elegant spiral staircase when someone taps me on my shoulder. Aggravated, I turn around hissing, "What!" before looking up at the person who tapped me and- Holy. Shit.

A flash of fear crosses the being's eyes before he mutters, "Sorry to bother you, but would you mind telling me what's going on?" Dumbstruck, I just gape openly at this beautiful boy that is standing before me.

He has beautiful porcelain skin that is hinted with just a dash of rosy red on his chiseled cheeks. Swirling with emotion, his eyes entrance me, because I'm not sure if they're blue or green or- Oh. Right. He asked a question.

"I'm sorry for snapping. Why don't I just show you? Come on!" I grab his hand and lead him in the opposite direction of where I should be going. I don't care, though, because I am _holding_ his _hand_! "I'm Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson."

"K-kurt," he stutters out. My mind is reeling as I sneak a glance at him. _Ohmygod, is he flustered? Holy shit what._

I lead him, finally into the Senior Commons where most of the Warblers already are, practicing the harmonies for the performance. I stop and turn around to face him, watching as he takes in the room. "I'm guessing you're new here?"

He nods sharply and continues to take in the room. "I just transferred from McKinley. What's happening here? It's my first day, I'm very confused."

My face turns apologetic as I take in his guarded expression. _I will make your walls crumble._

"Sorry, sorry! The Warblers, we're the glee club here at Dalton, like to throw performances for our fellow students sometimes. it just so happens that you're about to witness one!"

"Blaine!" My name is screeched from across the room

"Ah, the Warblers beckon. Well, enjoy," I say as I run across he room to face a very angry looking Wes. "Sorry, we have a new student. I was just helping him."

A few boys snorted amidst the group. "That's very nice and all Prince Charming, but get in formation! Showtime!"

"Geez, Wes. Don't get your gavel in a twist," I mutter as I step into line.

The backing beats sound and I belt out the harmonies, feeling so strange not to be in that spotlight. I sway with the rest, keeping a close eye on Kurt, who seems to be enjoying himself. Nick sounds great, but _I'm so much better_.

I let my facade falter a bit and a foul expression makes its presence on my face. I glare at Nick, who is singing is heart out in the front of the group. _He needs to stop! Mine. mine. MINE!_

But before I know it, we're done and our audience is praising us. Everyone runs up to Nick and tells him how great he was and _I'm so glad someone else __**finally**__ got a chance to sing._

I stride away from the group, searching for Kurt. He's standing just a little off to the side, smiling and clutching his bag.

Upon approaching him, I grin widely and ask, "So? How did you like it?"

He smiles and replies, "Oh, you guys were great! So different from my old glee club."

"Oh, you sing?"

"Yes, and very well if I do say so myself. Not that my old glee club used to acknowledge it, but whatever. Are you okay? Maybe it's not my place to ask, but you seemed a little angry during the performance," he quickly backtracks, "Not that I was watching you o-of course, I-I mean-"

I chuckle at his obviously flustered expression. I put on my best Dapper Anderson face and ask, "Would you like to get some coffee with me? We'll be able to talk more with less crowds."

His perfect mouth forms a tiny "o" and he manages to squeak out, "Um, s-sure."


	3. Mystery

The coffee shop inside Dalton was very nice, I must say. The walls were covered in beautiful paintings of landscapes from long ago, from the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier that sparkled with the light filtering in from the rather large windows, and the tables and chairs were tastefully chosen.

Not to mention the smell of coffee filling my nose.

But right now, I was not interested in my surroundings but rather the beautiful elfin boy who sat before me. The light that trickled in reflected off of his chestnut hair so perfectly. He probably thinks I'm scum with my horrible appearances today.

"So, Kurt," I start, "What brings you to Dalton?"  
><em>Shit. That was not the reaction I was expecting.<em> The poor boy was tearing up and looking away from me fearfully. "Shit, I'm sorry! You don't have to tell me." I grabbed his hand across the table and rubbed soothing circles into it with my thumb.

He looked down at our hands, visibly tensed, and then jerked his hand out of my grasp. "I don't need your pity," he hissed, glaring at my hand, which hadn't yet moved.

I looked at him incredulously. "I don't pity you. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." _Fuck. He hates me. He's probably straight and is weirded out._ I bet he can sense the failure seeping off of me.

"I just don't feel comfortable spilling my darkest secrets to someone I met fifteen minutes ago," he snapped, his face dark and unrelenting.

I don't know why those words hurt so much, but they do and I feel the tell-tale signs of tears welling up in my eyes. _No, Blaine. Get your fucking act together. What would Dad say?_  
>But the tears don't cease to bunch up. A single drop slides down my cheek and I look away, embarrassed. "I just—I know how it feels to be completely on your own and I- I wanted to help," I manage, my voice breaking on the last syllable.<p>

I chance a peek up at Kurt, only to find him wide-eyed, covering his mouth in shock. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I'm just so used to everyone being horrible to me or pitying me because I'm the weird gay kid and I didn't—"

"Wait," _Holy shit._ "You're gay, too?" I gape openly at Kurt as he raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Come on, now," he laughs. "I'm the one that should be surprised here. I mean look at me! I practically _scream_ gay."

He continues talking but I really can't concentrate because his laugh is the most adorable thing. His eyes and nose scrunch up really tight and he throws his head back, seemingly very humoured. Our conversation turns to lighter subjects and pretty soon we discover that we have quite a lot in common.

It turns out that we both share a deep love for Vogue, RENT, Elton John, Neil Patrick Harris, and Lady Gaga.

I was intrigued to find out that Kurt and his glee club had devoted an entire lesson to Gaga's music and even dressed up in the costumes.

We were in the middle of discussing the latest fall trends when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

**Wes: Hey, Blaine, I know you're trying to cozy up with the new kid, but we have Warblers practice. No missing rehearsals or you're out, remember?**

_Fuck._ I checked the time n my phone to see that it was already 5:45, which means that I'm late for Warblers practice.

"Who was that? Not meaning to pry or anything but-"

"No, it's fine, Kurt. It's just Wes. I totally forgot that I have Warblers practice today and I'm supposed to be there so..." I trail off, hoping he'll understand what I'm trying to say.

"Would I be allowed to come, too? It seems very promising from what I saw earlier." Kurt grins at me as if he just knows what I was thinking.

I put on my best mock-British accent and say, "That would be magnificent, dear chap. Dare I say, let's get to it, yes?"

He chuckles (There it is again) and picks up his satchel, slinging it over one shoulder. "Lead on, my fellow!"

~~~~

As we arrive at the Warblers meeting, we are greeted with snickers and smirks from the entirety of the group.

*BANG*

"I will have order!" Wes calls out from the front of the room, wielding his gavel like a weapon. "Now that Warbler Blaine has finally decided to grace us with his presence, we my begin. First off, I think a celebratory round of applause is necessary for our very own Warbler Nick's performance in the Senior Commons this afternoon."

Whistles and shouts fill the air as Nick stands up to take a bow.

*BANG*

"Now, we received a lot of comments from the onlookers saying how they were very glad that we decided to showcase some other talent in this group. Therefore, I propose a new rule."

Wes looks around the room, gauging everyone's reactions before continuing. "Every week, the council and I will decide on someone new to be at the front of our group. As for Sectionals, which is looming upon us, we will hold auditions for this coveted lead spot. This way, everyone gets a chance at being in that spotlight."

I glance around the room to find people sneaking glances my way, as if they think I'll burst into tears or something. _Not yet, anyway._ I look over to Kurt, who is staring me down, trying to read my mind by the looks of it. I smile happily at him before turning my attention back to the council.

"All in favor?"

Every single hand shoots up into the air, mine albeit more slowly, tentatively.

"It is decided. Meeting adjourned."

*BANG, BANG*

The students clear out of the room as if the building was on fire. I stand up slowly, and say carefully to Kurt, "I'm terribly sorry. I have a ton of work to get to. We can meet up tomorrow, yes?"

Kurt lingers on my impassive expression for a moment before nodding. I hand a piece of paper to him and cross my arms defensively, my fingernails digging into my sore arm.

"Here's my number, you can text me any time."

He smiles, glancing down at the paper before stuffing it into his blazer pocket. "I'll see you around, Blaine."

As soon as Kurt is out of sight, I race down the corridor to the dormitories. _Release, __**NOW**_!

I reach my door, panting as I unlock it frantically, slamming the door behind me loudly.

_Come here, Blaine,_ my blade seems to be calling to me.

Not being able to resist the temptation, I let the darkness control me.

_Failure._


	4. Long Ago

Three hours later, I was lying on the floor of my room, surrounded by blood stained tissues. My iPod was playing, at full blast, my playlist of songs I listen to whenever I'm upset. Chasing Cars had just come on the shuffle when I heard a loud series of knocks on my door. Grunting, I sat up, pulling my sleeves down over my aching arms. I picked up the tissues that were littering the carpet and tossed them across the room into my garbage can.

"Blaine! I know you're in there!"

I gripped my face as I realized who it was. _Not now._ Sighing, I walked over to my thundering door and yanked it open.

Wes was standing there with his arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow raised, and his left foot tapping impatiently.

"What do you _want_, Wesley?"

He took one look at my pained face and sighed heavily. "Let me in, Blaine."  
>I turned away from the door, leaving it open as an invitation for him to come in. I plopped down on my unkempt bed and curled my knees to my chest, hands gripping my knees. Wes strolled over to iHome, pressed pause, and turned around<em>glaring<em> at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.

"Nothing. I'm _fine_," I retort, curling my hands around my knees tighter.

"That's bull, Blaine. At least three people came up to me today, probably more, worried _sick_ because they thought you were going to pass out during class. You didn't even gel your hair today! The only time you were even remotely okay was when you were with that new guy." I opened my mouth to interrupt, but Wes raised his hand to silence me. "Don't deny it! Oh, and Kurt is joining the Warblers. He came up to me after the meeting and requested an audition."

"Oh, that's good. I'm sure he'll do just fine," I said quietly.

"Yes, I'm sure he will too. But this is about you, Blaine. You're one of my _best friends_. You've got to tell me what's wrong! It comes in the handbook!"  
>I scoffed at this ridiculous statement.<p>

"Well, some _best friend_ you are then. If you took your head out of your gavel for two seconds, then just maybe you'd realize what's wrong! Sorry if I seem rude, but come on, Wes!"

He took a step back at my menacing expression. I saw a flicker of worry and- was that _fear_?- flash across his eyes and he turned away, looking around my room. I groaned and leaned back against the sturdy wall, my head falling forward into my hands.

"Just… just leave me alone, Wes. I'm not worth the frown lines."

"You know what? Fine. I'll leave you be—for now. Don't pull that 'I'm not worth it' act. I don't buy it. You just don't feel like telling me. I'll go now, but just know that if you need to talk, I'll be right down the hall." He clapped me on the shoulder before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

I sat still on my bed for about two minutes before actually sitting up. Grunting, I pulled off my socks and threw them in my teeming laundry bin. I glanced over to where my silver iHome rested, my lovely black iPhone, a gift from my father of course, protruding from its center. Pushing my weight up with my hands, I snatched the phone out of its compartment and took it off lock. A little blue icon was notifying me of a new text message from an unknown number.

**Unknown: Hey, Blaine, it's Kurt. At least I hope this is Blaine… Well, I just wanted you to have my number. Thank you for making me feel welcome. :)**

I checked the time on the message- 7:45 p.m., which was half an hour ago. I tapped out a message as fast as I could, not that it would matter anyway.

**To Kurt: Hi, Kurt! I'm dreadfully sorry that I ran out on you earlier; make it up to you tomorrow? Show you around a little bit?**

Smiling, I shoved my phone into my pocket and paced around my room. I walked over to where my corkboard hangs above my desk, large and full of photos that I hate. In the far left corner is a photo of me and my grandmother, who hates my guts. But my father always told me to respect women. Just because I'm not physically attracted to them does not mean that I can't appreciate them.

Next to that is a photo from just last year, when I transferred to Dalton Academy. My first time wearing the Dalton blazer, sickly thin and hair unkempt. You can just about see the pink scar outlining the left side of my jaw and a yellowed bruise surrounding it. I shake my head at the disgusting sight. _Dear god, how did I even become popular?_

Right in the middle of the corkboard is a large print of my freshman class panorama. I'm in the front row, off to the side, being one of the shortest kids here. The time difference between the two photos is that of but three months, but I look completely different. In the class photo, I have my hair gelled back, a large smile on my face, and a nice healthy glow to my skin. I absolutely loathe this photo. This is right about when the lies started, when I put on this happy face to make people leave me alone. But it backfired, because it only made them want to know me more. So I created this dapper persona. An over-achieving straight A student, lead singer of the Warblers, loud, charismatic, every father's dream, the boy that every girl would want to date. I only ever revealed that I was gay to Wes, because, well, I thought I could trust him, but the next day, the entire school knew. And they embraced me for it.

Little do they know he horrors that I went though at my previous school.

I am interrupted from my thoughts by a buzzing in my pocket. I take out the phone to see a text from the one and only Kurt.

**Kurt: I'd love that, thank you. Good thing it's Saturday! Shall we meet in the front hall around 9?**

I tap out a hasty reply, head swimming.

**To Kurt: Sounds good. Have a nice night. :)**

I flop back down on my bed and think of this past day's events. So today I met someone who is physically perfect in every way. He's gay, he loves fashion, he doesn't think my taste in music is silly, he sings, an he is gorgeous.

But what am I? I sure didn't make the best first impression. Of all days, Kurt had to make his grand entrance _today_. My hair was ungelled, I had bags under my eyes, I didn't even moisturize my skin, for Pete's sake. He must think I'm a bum, or just someone he can use.

I refuse to let myself think otherwise. If I start holding on to happy thoughts, my spirits get crushed. Apparently the universe doesn't want me to have good things in my life. Every time I get something that I truly love, it gets taken away. My mom, my dignity, my lead spot... all gone.

I can't get too attached. Because I just know that he'll get ripped away from me too.

But I can't help but wonder. This person, who should honestly be the last person to judge anyone, was so quick to assume that my intentions were malicious. Did I seem threatening? Was I too forward in my interest and it scared him? But no, I can't be interested. I am not allowed to have feelings right now.

Wes' appearance in my room earlier really stirred me. Do that many people actually hang on to my every motion and word? Am I really never given the satisfaction of privacy because I'm something of a celebrity? Gossip travels like wildfire in this small school. I'm sure that by tomorrow, word of my off behavior will have reached the staff and counseling sessions will be scheduled.

When I first arrived at the school, I had to go to weekly therapy sessions with the guidance counselor. I didn't talk much, but neither did she. We basically just sat and stared at each other for half an hour before she decided that it was time for me to leave. Not that I minded, of course. Talking about myself is not one of my strongest suits.

Believe you me, I never wanted any of this. If my life were actually in my controlling grasp, I wouldn't be in such deep shit. But people insist on toying with me and my emotions, seeing how far they can bend me before I snap. It scares me sometimes, because people truly don't know the extent of my internal damage.

It's a sad life, being best friends with your abuser. My one confidante, the only thing that I allow myself to know, observe, and trust with my secrets. The ironic part is that my largest and most dangerous secret is the one thing that holds all of my secrets. A shiver ripples through my body and makes my toe curl under. A need to feel, to harm myself overcomes me, and I almost submiss for the second time that night.

Almost, because a buzz once again wakes me up from my thoughts.

**Kurt: See you then! Have wonderful dreams.**

A few words, so simple, yet so powerful. _Have wonderful dreams_. I am suddenly transported back in time, to a place I knew and loved. Curled up with a large pillow and a kind-looking woman singing me to sleep. _Have wonderful dreams, sweetheart. I love you._

Choking back a sob, I pull off my Dalton uniform and burrow under the covers, clad only in my boxers. It doesn't take long before sleep claims me, and I rest quietly.

That night, I dreamt of cerulean eyes.


	5. Nightmares

Someone crashes through my door as I cry and wail, wrists bleeding and heart stuttering. My fingernails tear at the open wounds, blood spewing everywhere- coating my face, my arms, and I can't help but think how much better I feel. I'm losing grip, my vision blurring and my hands grasping at an invisible thread, being stretched so thin, about to break at any given moment.

Someone is beside me, I can't really tell who, but they seem to be on the phone. Wow, they rush to my worthless, almost lifeless side, and can't even put down their fucking phone?

They're yelling so loudly, words like _so much blood_ and _send help please_. I'm so tired...

The thread snaps and the last words I hear are strangling cries of my name. "Blaine. Blaine. BLAINE! Please stay awake! Come back! I need you!"

I try to focus on the voice, so achingly familiar. I no longer see just black behind my closed eyelids- red is filling my vision. Curtains of maroon blood, parted just slightly to reveal a large white light. My mother is standing there, preserved in her beautifully youthful state. She's glowing- wait. Her eyes are burning a beautiful red-orange, like fire. Her face in melting into my father's, horns sprouting out of his head.

"You're next, Blaine."

Large black vines creep out of the ground beneath his feet and engulf him. His arms, stretched out before me, are quickly covered and extended by the snake-like vines. One slim black finger grazes my neck and-

My eyes fly open. I grip onto the cold sheets, the stickiness of my sweat evident in their damp threads. In the blackness, I glance around me. No corpses or sources of slightly familiar voices, no flowing blood... I'm safe.

I let out a shaky breath and sit up, pressing the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. "Just a fucking dream," I mutter, gripping at the locks of my hair. "More like a nightmare."

A bright light is shining on my left and I look over to see the time reflecting back at me from my lovely iHome.

_5:45 AM_, it reads.

Well. Only three hours and fifteen minutes left to go. There's no way I can go back to sleep now, so I pull a t-shirt and pants from my dirty laundry and slide them on. I grab my phone, my headphones, and my key and stroll out of the door, out of the building, and into the cool autumn morning.

One of the awesome parts about boarding at Dalton is the beautiful grounds. As I walk through the neatly trimmed gardens, I pass at least two students having a morning jog. It's so green and peaceful out here, the dawn about to break in the lighting sky. There's a little memorial garden to my left for the founder of the school. Richard Dalton passed away six years ago, and the students at the time all chipped in to build a serene little space. Three stone benches surround a small koi pond. Huge stones surround the back end of it, and a small waterfall keeps the water flowing and stirring in the tiny source of water. They really did a nice job on it, with the small bushels of flowers such as forget-me-nots, poppies(his favorite), and white roses.

I snort to myself at the color scheme- red, white, and blue. America.

I sit myself down on one of the cool stone benches and pull out my phone-slash-music source.

As I'm scrolling through my song collection, I hear a rustle of leaves and a tiny whispered _"Shit."_

I whip my head around to see a small figure crouching behind some bushes not too far from where I sit. The figure moves an inch, falling into the light of one of the fog lamps. Recognition crosses my face as I realize who it is.

Jacob.

I clear my throat quickly and call out, "Hi, Jacob!", raising two of my fingers in a wave. Jacob stands up abruptly, smooths out his trousers, and heads on over to me. "Oh, hey, Blaine... Fancy seeing you here... Well, I mean you do board and stuff and so do I and we're in the same dorm area and you totally have the right to come out here when you want to because it's a free country and um... yeah, I'll stop talking now."

I almost burst into giggles at his nervousness. It's a well known fact that Jacob has a huge crush on me. Not that he's the only one who does, but my GOD he makes it so, so, _so_ obvious. He's easy on the eyes, too.  
>light brown hair that falls just above the eyebrows, chocolate brown eyes, a small bit of innocence that I find endearing. I remember when I first met him. It was a few days after I transferred. I was walking to lunch when I noticed that someone was following me- not so discreetly- with a glazed, but determined look in his eyes. At that time, I still had my scars and bruises, my hair was a mess, and I was a shy little thing. I turned to Wes beside me and asked, "Who is that kid?" Wes turned around, saw Jacob, smirked, and turned back to me. "That's Jacob Samson, resident PG of the Dalton Halls." "PG?" I had asked. "Predatory Gay. It looks like you're his new target."<p>

Now, looking at Jacob, he's so different. After I actually came out, he hasn't even gone after anyone else. He just follows me around like a lovesick puppy, swooning every time I talk to him. To be fair, I haven't exactly turned him down. I love attention. I don't want to break his heart by telling him that he's boring, not my type, and that I would never date him. Ever. Then he'd just mope around, feeling sorry himself, and I can't have that. I'm the only one who is allowed to feel sorry for myself.

"So, Jacob. What brings you here, at six in the morning?"

He simply smirked and said, "I could ask you the same question." His eyes raked up and down my body. "Looks like you just rolled out of bed."

I stand up, crossing my arms, and eye him suspiciously. "Care to tell me why you were being so secretive, hiding behind a bush that just so happens to be near where I'm sitting?"

Jacob blushed and rubbed at his neck, spluttering out, "I was just, um, you know, um... enjoying the view. Of the grounds."

"Of the grounds or of my ass?"

Jacob whimpered, his face red hot with embarrassment, and muttered something I couldn't quite hear. "What was that?" I ask, waiting.

"I _said_ that I was wondering if you wanted to, um, get coffee with me later?"

"Sorry, Jacob. I've got plans today."

"Yeah, okay. That's per-perfectly fine. Yeah, I'll just, go and, um, yeah. Bye."

Uh, okay. "Bye, Jacob." I watch as he storms off, wrapping his arms around his middle. Oh well. I've got plans with Kurt today!

I smile as I think of Kurt. Beautiful, wonderful Kurt.

No. Stop. Stop doing that.

His eyes, they're so mysterious. So gorgeous, but guarded.

No. Stop smiling. No. Bad. Bad Blaine.

Fuck.  
>My phone reads at 6:15 AM, so I decide to kill some more time and take my mind off of things. I choose a song on my iPhone, turn the volume up to full blast, and take off running.<p>

_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to  
>Strawberry Fields<em>

I run past the garden, past the old oak tree, past the shiny white fountain, past all the serenity.

_Nothing is real_

I pass the two people again, taking a rest and drinking water. They don't have any thoughts to run from, they don't have anything plaguing their mind and ripping it to shreds. No. They're lucky.

_Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see._

The cold air rips at my lungs and stings my eyes, and I need to stop- I should stop- No, _don't stop_. So I run faster.

_It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out.  
>It doesn't matter much to me.<em>

It all works out? Hah. I'm sure. Running, running, running. I keep on my own path, running circles around the back side of the school. I leap over a flower bush, and I almost stop because a shooting pain runs up the side of my leg but no. I keep going, sprinting, faster, faster, faster. I feel like I'm going to take off flying any second now.

_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to  
>Strawberry Fields.<br>Nothing is real.  
>Nothing to get hung about, Strawberry Fields forever.<em>

I stop only when the song ends, heaving and choking on air. My sides feel like they're going to split in half.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I grab my key from my pocket and push inside the warm building. My head is spinning. I grip the wall nearest me for support, and inch my way along to my dorm room. There it is, room 13A. My choking quickly turns into sobs as I push into the door, my heart still racing.

Why did I do that?

Oh, right, because I'm an _idiot_.

I crash to the floor as soon as I open the door, dry heaving and coughing. Why did I run at an inhuman speed? Why am I so stupid! I yank the headphones out of the slot in my phone and throw them across the room angrily. "G-god damn it!" My phone buzzes, indicating a new message, but I don't care who it is. I throw the phone, too, and curl up in a ball on my carpet.

It smells of feet.

Tears spill down my face and I rock back and forth, trying to regain my senses. An ugly hiccup joins in with my wails, a rhythm that loops over and over in strange harmony. Hiccup, moan, more tears, hiccup, hiccup, wail, tears again.

I don't know how long I stayed curled up on the floor, an hour, two minutes, it doesn't really matter. I eventually stood up and pulled off my tear-soaked shirt as if on autopilot. Without looking, I toss it somewhere in the general direction of my hamper along with my pants. My mind is screaming at me, taunting me. _Go find your blade, Blaine. You know you want to. You will feel so much better, won't you? Just go pick it up._

For the first time in my life, I ignore my thoughts. My bathroom door is slightly ajar, just as I left it yesterday. I force my feet to propel me forward and I enter the white bathroom, my chest heavy. The mirror is slightly cracked at the top. My own doing, of course. I mess everything up. I pull off my boxers and clamber into the shower, twist the knob all the way on full heat and pressure, and lie in wait. My snotty nose starts to clear with the steam that snakes its way around my body. I am suddenly reminded of my dream-no, nightmare-, and the black tendrils reaching towards me. I shudder intensely and turn my face upward. The heated water drops attack my sore and splotchy face, stirring but soothing them.

The haze that clouded my thoughts earlier is starting to lift, the horrible, _terrifying_ images slowly are retreating to the very back of my mind. Reaching back and gripping my shoulder, I pull my fingers towards me and start gently massaging my shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension. I wrap my hands around my neck and tilt my head back, slap my face, and reach out to turn off the shower. The pellets cease, lingering only in a small drip, drip, drip down the drain. Sighing, I climb out of the tub, wrap a towel around my waist, and walk out of the bathroom flinching as a blast of cold air slams against me.

I calmly walk over to where I threw my phone and pick it up, pressing the top button to unlock it.

**One new message from Kurt:  
>Hey, we're still on for 9 right?<br>Received 7:05 AM**

It's already 7:45 now. Holy _shit_ that was a long shower. I send a quick _Of course :)_ back and started panicking. Okay, so now I've got approximately one hour to gel my hair (which takes twenty minutes to get perfect), choose an outfit, clean my face, eat breakfast (? Maybe I'll skip), make a plan, and gather my composure. Okay. I can do this.

I race over to my closet and tread through the astonishingly numerous hangers yielding blazers to find my weekend clothes. I pick out a grey and white striped cardigan, a white polo, grey slacks, and a grey bowtie to finish it off. I rub my towel all over my body and slip into the clothes, the cool fabric clinging to my still slightly damp skin. Clipping my bowtie around my neck, I enter my humid bathroom once more and search for the gel. People might say that it's ridiculous that one person can go through three tubs of gel in a month, but my gel is my secret weapon. It's what seals the deal on Mr. Dapper Anderson, star of Dalton.

I scrub and scrub my face until it proves absolutely clean and faultless. I smile at my reflection and venture back into my room. I check my phone for the time and it's 8:3o. Almost time. Now, what on earth am I going to do today?

Twenty minutes later, I'm out the door and heading down to the front hall, our designated meeting spot. I'm a few minutes early because I don't like to keep people waiting, but when I arrive, guess who is already there? Kurt. Dressed in the _skinniest_ pair of jeans I have ever seen. His back is to me, and his ass is _rightfuckingthere_ and- no. Bad Blaine. Stop thinking those things.

"Hey, Kurt," I'm saying before I can stop myself. He turns around and smiles when his eyes land on me.  
>I hate that smile.<p>

"Oh, hey Blaine! You're early." Kurt chuckles and starts towards me. I feel so stuck, because I have no idea how we should greet each other seeing as we only met yesterday, but then Kurt is hugging me and his arms feel so damn good around me. I almost start tearing up.

This is the first time I've been hugged since, well, a really long time.

I pull back, instead, and smile at him. "So, are you ready for your tour of the oh, so grand Dalton Academy?"

He grins and replies, "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. Where to first?"

"Follow me and listen well," I say, strolling to the left side of the building. I come to a stop in front of the doors I just entered through. "These are the dorms. There are three different sections- A, B, and C- nothing all that fancy." I open the door and gesture for him to follow. As we enter the room, there are three different paths to take. I point to the one on the left. "That's the A section, also known as where all of the Warblers' rooms are, and the sports teams. There are about 30 rooms in each hallway, and three hallways in each section." I gesture to the hallway directly ahead. "This is section B, where the students with the top grades stay. Well, all the ones who aren't Warblers or jocks, for that matter. There are some students in this section that just got placed because, either there was no room, or their parents have influence."

Kurt nods as he takes in all of this information. I point to the section on my right. "This, as I'm sure you know, is section C. This is where all of the transfer students go. You'd be surprised how many people transfer here, not unlike yourself. If you're boarding here- wait, are you?" Kurt nods again. "Then you'll be staying here. Unless you join the Warblers of course. Maybe then we can snag you the room next to mine." I wink, surprising both myself and, obviously Kurt. He blushes and ducks his head before softly replying, "That'd be nice."

I smile and reach out to touch his forearm, but he flinches before I get there. _What?_ I bring the hand back to my head and scratch the back of my neck awkwardly. "Well, let's go check out the other areas of the school." My stomach starts growling at me as we walk, but I choose to ignore it. Now is not the time. I lead a reclusive Kurt back through the double doors and head on through to the right side of the school- the actual academics and administrative side. As we walk past some of the doors along the way, I explain to Kurt what they are. "This is the headmaster's office, I'm sure you've met him already. He seems scary, but he's an old softie. Those two smaller doors are the Deans' offices, one for the upper classmen and one for the lower. Ours is Dean Canterbury, she's super nice, and ah! Here we are!"

I stop walking once I reach the main classroom area for sophomores. I wheel around to face Kurt, who is looking at me with an expectant look on his face as if to say 'go on'. "Okay, so this is the sophomore hallway. Every class that you will take will be here. In Dalton, there are no mixed classes. If you are a sophomore, you take the sophomore level classes. But, he academics here are a much higher standard. If you don't get at least an 85 in every class, you are put on academic probation. But no pressure or anything."

"Right. No pressure. Well, it's a good thing that I was always an overachiever in McKinley. But please tell me that the French classes here are actually interesting and that I will learn something other than how to count to one hundred." Kurt pleads with large eyes, and I pray to some higher power that he will always make this face.

"Don't worry, Kurt. I'm sure that Dalton will far exceed your expectations." I grin at him, and I allow myself, just this once, to feel. What that feeling is, I don't quite know.  
>"It already has," he breathes, smiling back at me dopily.<p>

Well, shit. If I could see that smile for the rest of my life, I'd be happy. _Bad Blaine. Blaine. Stop. No. You're not allowed to feel happy. STOP._

I sigh and give him a small quirk of the corner of my mouth that barely counts as a smile.

Today is going to be a long day.


End file.
